


i'd be dead by now (but i wanna find out)

by madnessiseverything



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crying, Hospitals, Hugs, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode 119, Pre-Relationship, Season 3, Tim Lives AU, What-If, post-Unknowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/pseuds/madnessiseverything
Summary: Tim doesn’t know how much time passes, body and mind too exhausted to keep track. But on a grey evening, the white hospital lights just this side of irritating, Tim turns his head to see Martin standing in the doorway of the room.the one where tim survives.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 14
Kudos: 116
Collections: The Magnus Archives Rare Pairs 2020





	i'd be dead by now (but i wanna find out)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [triangulumkel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/triangulumkel/gifts).



> this is my assignment for the tma rarepair exchange 2020! hope you enjoy <3
> 
> title from "lateniteaha" by fewjar
> 
> cws:   
> hospitals;  
> brief mentions of medication/pain/injury-induced haziness;   
> half a sentence of canon-typical "tim didn't plan on surviving the unknowing"

Timothy Stoker wakes up surrounded by sterile white and with his body in utter agony. He gives himself a few seconds to ponder if this was to be his existence after death - a void of blinding white and pain - before the distinct smell of hospital makes his eyes fly open.    
  
“Oh! Hello,” says a voice off to his right. Tim tries to turn his head and hisses, pain shooting up from his shoulder to the base of his skull. “Careful, you’ve taken quite some damage, Mr Stoker.” Tim blinks against the instinctive tears gathering in his eyes at the stabbing pain in his neck and focuses on the blurry image of a nurse fussing with things outside of his line of sight.    
  
Tim opens his mouth to - he doesn’t quite know. To ask what happened, to scream that he wasn’t supposed to survive- to ask what the building looked like. All that escapes him is a croak and the nurse looks up.    
  
“Hang on, I’ll grab some water and notify the doctor that you’re awake. I’ll be right back.”    
  
Time passes in a blur after that. Tim vaguely remembers the nurse helping him drink, remembers a soft-edged woman explaining his injuries and only really hearing that the wax museum was entirely destroyed. He forgets to ask about the others, his head pounding and vision swimming. He does remember talk of pain medication, but can’t get himself to focus when his entire body feels like it was on fire.    
  
The next thing Tim remembers is his parents, furious and faces etched with worry, demanding answers he couldn’t possibly give them. He thanks his lucky stars for the constant presence of the nurse, monitoring his condition and firmly insisting that his parents give him space to breathe. He thinks he falls back asleep before they leave.    
  
Tim doesn’t know how much time passes, body and mind too exhausted to keep track. But on a grey evening, the white hospital lights just this side of irritating, Tim turns his head to see Martin standing in the doorway of the room. Tim can’t stop the smile that he knows pulls across his face, doesn’t want to stop it. It drops all the same when he takes in Martin’s state.    
  
“Hey,” he whispers, voice rough. Martin closes the door behind himself and before Tim can so much as shift in his bed, Martin is at his side with trembling hands reaching out for Tim’s own. Tim watches tears gather in already red-rimmed eyes and Martin’s face buries in the space next to their interlaced hands.    
  
“Hey, hey,” Tim repeats, forcing his free hand to land in Martin’s hair, running through it in comfort. “It’s okay. I’m- well. I’m alive.” Martin gives a choked sob and Tim wants nothing more than to pull him into his chest. He swallows down his frustrations at his body’s limits and tugs at their joined hands. “Come here.”   
  
Martin doesn’t need to be told twice, folding himself into Tim as if he could disappear into the hospital gown. Words start tumbling out alongside stuttered breaths. “We did it, we- you did it, I’m so sorry, they wouldn’t let me in and I thought-thought-” His voice breaks and Tim ignores the stab of pain as he wraps his arms around Martin’s shaking shoulders.    
  
“Shhh. I’m here. We’re all- we’re here, Martin.” Martin stiffened in his hold and Tim freezes, remembering the question he has yet to ask. He looks down and finds Martin’s right hand twisting into the sheets, eyes lowered. “Martin?”   
  
“Basira made it out-she. She’s fine, got discharged the next day. She said everything worked and Daisy-” Martin cuts himself off, pushing himself up slightly. “We don’t- they didn’t find a body. Basira hasn’t said that-that she’s gone yet.”   
  
Tim nods slowly, brain swimming with information. “What-” He clears his throat, worry that he was entirely unused to wrapping around his neck with icy claws. “What about Jon?”    
  
Martin stares down against the sheets. “He shouldn’t-” Martin stops and Tim’s heart climbs into his throat at the laugh pushing past Martin’s lips. It’s short-lived, sharp and entirely too close to a sob. “They say he should be dead. He- His brain’s the only thing still-” Martin’s hand curls into a fist. “Everything but brain-dead is how Basira put it.”    
  
Tim doesn’t ask how. He pulls Martin back against his side and closes his eyes. Emotions he doesn’t know how to process swirl in his mind, old anger mixing with even older concern and the sight of Martin, so much smaller than he should look. Tim finds himself pressing a kiss against Martin’s temple.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he finally voices, unsure what exactly it is he is apologising for. Martin looks up with a furrowed brow.    
  
“What for? You- you did what you had to, the circus-”   
  
“For worrying you,” Tim settles on. Martin opens his mouth to no doubt protest again and Tim cuts him off. “Not just with this,” he mutters, gesturing to his body. He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat and marches on. “Before, too.”    
  
Understanding dawns on Martin’s face. “O-oh. I uh, it’s- it’s okay. I don’t blame you.” Martin moves his hand from the sheets to the single chair next to the bed, dragging it closer before falling into it. He doesn’t let go of Tim’s hand. He chuckles slightly. “Not anymore, at least.”   
  
Tim gives a weak grin but lets Martin continue when the weary-looking assistant leans his forehead against their clasped hands.    
  
“We- we were all a mess. I can’t- you were dealing with it in your own way.”   
  
“I’m still sorry.”    
  
Martin worries at his bottom lip and not for the first time Tim pushes down the urge to reach out to stop him. “I- I guess you’re forgiven.” Martin paused briefly. “And I’m sorry too. For making things even harder on you.”    
  
Tim shrugged with one shoulder, careful not to jostle his stitches anymore. “Apology accepted. It’s been hard on all of us.”   
  
“Some more than others,” Martin says, eyes sweeping over Tim’s body before flicking to the door quickly, almost quick enough to be missed by Tim. Almost.    
  
Another thought occurs to Tim and the realisation makes his muscles tense, the grip he has on Martin’s hand tightening. “Elias,” he hisses and Martin flinches. “What- how did things go with him?” Tim distantly congratulates himself on the measured words.    
  
“We-we got him. He’s in prison.” Martin’s shoulders straighten, eyes looking determinedly just over Tim’s head.    
  
There is a voice, digging into Tim’s thoughts.  _ It’s not enough _ , he thinks,  _ it’s not at all enough _ .    
  
Martin starts talking again, voice surprisingly hard. “It was the right choice. I know it’s better than he deserves but I couldn’t- It was the right thing to do.”    
  
And Tim breathes. He looks at Martin, with his shoulders set in defiance, mouth twisted down and eyes hard. Wonderful, stubborn, gentle Martin, imagines him staring down Elias with the look currently directed at the wall. He exhales. “Okay.”    
  
All at once, every bit of tension leaves Martin and Tim finds himself on the receiving end of a tired smile, small and quickly wiped away. Tim saw it all the same. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Martin says softly, thumb drawing circles into the back of Tim’s hand. Tim smiles in response.    
  
“Me too.”   
  
“I mean- Well. Aside from all the-”   
  
“I get it, Martin. Thank you.”    
  
Martin nods and sighs, pulling their intertwined hands up to lean his forehead against them. “This isn’t what winning was supposed to be,” he whispers and Tim feels an ache that he knows is entirely unrelated to the ceiling of a wax museum collapsing onto him.    
  
“We’ll be okay.” Tim doesn’t know why he says it, has yet to navigate the mess of emotions fighting for attention. But his head is starting to hurt again and he is tired and Martin is looking at him like he’s a beacon in the dark, so Tim resolves to sort them another time. For now, he gives Martin a weak smile and gets a watery one in return.    
  
No, this isn’t what either of them thought winning looked like. Elias is alive, Jon isn’t, not really. Martin looks like he carries the world on his shoulders and Tim knows that the storm inside him isn’t placated. But for now, Tim leans back and allows himself to be glad that he is alive.    
  
At the very least, he can be glad that he can be here for Martin, in whatever way possible. He has a feeling they are going to need each other. 


End file.
